“I hope that you may, if you wish it,” said Mary. She did not add, “I wonder what the poor old man can find so pleasant in his existence as to make him desire to live?” She did not again refer to Ned, but shortly got up, and told Mr Shank that she must be going.
“What! do you come all this way alone merely to visit a wretched being like me?” he exclaimed, as she moved towards the door.
“No, Ned comes with me, and he is waiting to take me back,” she answered.
“Why didn’t he come in and sit down until you were ready to go?” he asked.
“Because, Mr Shank, he knows that you dislike boys,” said Mary.
“Perhaps, as you think so well of him, he may not be so bad as others. When you come again bring him in; I’ll not scold him if he speaks civilly to me, and doesn’t attempt to play me tricks.”
“He’ll not play you tricks, and I’m sure that he’ll speak properly to you,” answered Mary, considerably mollified by Mr Shank’s last remark. She was glad, however, that Ned was not in sight, as she still somewhat mistrusted the old man. As soon as the door was closed she looked about for Ned, and spied him hurrying up.
“He wants to see you,” she said when Ned joined her, “so you must come in when Aunt Sally next sends me to him. He is a strange being. I wonder how he can manage to spend his time all by himself?”
They walked home chattering merrily, though Ned was a little more thoughtful than usual, wondering why his uncle had not written; and as soon as he had seen Mary safe at home, he hurried off to consult Lieutenant Hanson about the matter.
“Why,” said Ned to the lieutenant, “has uncle not written?”